


Nicotine Patches

by magpiedeployed



Category: Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Canon divergenceish, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Grieving, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Miscommunication, Reunions, Some Humor, fuck Ubisoft and randomly updating operator lore tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-27 07:02:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20756282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magpiedeployed/pseuds/magpiedeployed
Summary: A family emergency is brought to Bandit's attention, forcing him to confront the people in his life he never thought he'd see again any time soon.Luckily he has a mountain to support him through the process.





	Nicotine Patches

**Author's Note:**

> this was one hell of a thing to write, and it's mostly just an exploration of me trying to figure out the best way to write the trainwreck that is bandit. It appears though that writing about trainwrecks makes the process also a trainwreck though lmao.
> 
> Because I realized someone had already beat me to the idea of bandit/monty with bandit reuniting with his family yet by the time i realized that i had already written 8k words, and constantly rewrote/added/took things out. This story isn't meant to be completely loyal to Bandit's canon backstory and the pieces ubi blessed us of Bandit's personality and backstory is for the most part left up to reader interpretation so I made do and molded my own personal idea of this messy idiot’s story and here we are. Although there are certain aspects where i'm not completely satisfied with-i think it's in a decent place for now :). 
> 
> i hope you enjoy <3!

His past was an invisible obstacle nobody talks about, and after many avoidable arguments that still to this day left Bandit bitter has never come up again. It was a lost cause trying to sort through the emotional baggage he carries due to how heavily he’s repressed them and Bandit would lash out like a rabid dog if anyone got too close to figuring him out. Opening up was difficult for him to do and Bandit would absolutely hate himself if he became a burden to anyone-especially his partner. 

Montagne was a darling-everything he’d ever needed and more packed inside a flesh prison, and was one of the first people inside Rainbow apart from Blitz who he allowed to genuinely get to know him rather than the facade he wore like a mask every day. He was a breath of fresh air, rivaling Bandit-who was the suffocation contributed with dark abyssal waters. Bandit often felt guilty for denying Montagne any insight into his background considering how open the Frenchman was to him, but he couldn’t help but fear the worst and fret over mere hypotheticals. 

What if Montagne began to hate him for it? Would he lose everything he has with Montagne if he knew more than what Bandit allowed him to see? Thoughts like these brewed storms inside Bandit’s mind that kept him painfully silent despite the screams, gunshots, and sobs he’d often hear raging inside of his head during nights where his demons crept up on him. Yet Montagne never pried-accepted the harsh no’s for what they were and instead let bandit selfishly marvel in his warm touch of comfort without complaint. 

  * \- -

He never thought he’d hear from a ghost. 

It was convenient, an email delivered to him weeks before the holidays where a request for a few days leave would be entirely understood and granted. The email address was unfamiliar yet the flow of words, patterns in speech, and punctuality were painfully familiar to him though the familiarity of the email wasn’t what pained him the most. It was a blur in his mind that he tried helplessly to forget yet a few key details stuck out in his mind. _ Emergency, Mother, Dying _all pierced his mind and troubled his every waking thoughts for the remainder of the day that even Jäger, the clueless bastard, noticed. Bandit hadn’t heard from his family in years- an arrangement that he himself pushed for. Couldn’t bear to hear their condescendence, disappointment, and worry so it was best for everyone involved for him to leave them as ghosts of his past.

Ghosts he’d hoped not to ever have to encounter for a long while to come, and especially not the most daunting one of all-his own brother, the sender of the email.

  * \- -

“Mon Cher, what’s on your mind?” The inquiry was inevitable, the French man could read him like an open book. It wasn’t like he was hiding much anyways-perhaps yelling at every little thing that moved in his vicinity for the whole day wasn’t a smart way to avoid a confrontation. 

“Nothing.” Bandit drew out before escaping Montagne’s loving embrace that had suddenly begun to feel suffocating before sitting up on the bed and turning his back to his lover. He couldn’t deal looking at Montagne, else he might risk spilling out every nagging thought. It was always easier to stay silent when you didn’t have to face the one interrogating. Bandit flinched when he heard the bed creak softly and imagined the taller man sitting up, staring at him with thoughtful eyes as he tried to think of a way to approach Bandit. Bandit grimaced. Despite popular belief, he wasn’t a mangy street animal that needed precautions to approach. 

“Dom,” Montagne spoke softly, the otherwise soft tone edged with a cautious undertone. Bandit could already feel a piece of his soul breaking at the sound of Montagne’s concerned voice. It was too much for him to handle all at once and he could feel every bit of his built-up self-restraint slipping. 

“ Please, you-i…. you’re distressed. Tell me what’s wrong-my love look at me-I'm here for you and nothing you say can change that. I hate having to see you like this, please don’t push me away again.. Not this time, ” _Too much._ The strong hand resting on his cheek that had turned his head to face Montagne at eye level and the overbearing amount of love and worry that glossed over the GIGN operator overwhelmed him. Bandit opened his mouth to respond to his boyfriend’s pleas, yet the only thing that came out was the indecipherable stuttering of unintelligible words and curses. There was so much he wanted to say, so much he wanted to let go, and yet the repression formed a blockade that made it difficult to form coherent sentences. Eventually, after clearing his throat and taking a deep breath he supplied, tone laced with a faux indifference to hide the turmoil. 

“Got an email from my brother ‘bout my mother. Not doing so hot apparently. She’s uh.” A pause, the words that were waiting to be muttered feeling heavy on his tongue-and he himself didn’t even want to believe them. “She’s dying.” Both men were tense, unsure of how to react. This was one of the first times Bandit’s family has ever really been brought up in conversation, and the death of a loved one was not something to be toyed with. Therefore Montagne treaded the conversation as if he was on thin ice, the wrong move possibly leading to cold dark depths of misunderstanding. 

“Are you going to see her?” _Ouch_, straight to the point. Bandit noted down Montagne’s lack of ‘im sorry’ thrown in the inquiry and he couldn’t help but appreciate that. There was nothing Bandit hated more than feeling like a helpless victim, vulnerable to the horrible obstacles in life. Although Bandit would have preferred to dance around the conversation and downplay it as much as possible-try and keep Montagne out of the situation as much as he could though he knew it was virtually impossible.

“I don’t know,” Bandit replied honestly, leaning back to press his back against Montagne’s sturdy chest and relaxed against Montagne once he felt the French man’s arms wrap protectively around his waist. 

“I kind of… and before you say anything-I know it’s shitty but _i’m shitty_-I don’t want to have to... _Deal_ with them… Not yet. I-I’m not ready. I don’t think you would understand. It’s uhh... complicated.” Bandit let out a soft bitter laugh to ease his self deprecation though he stopped and bit his tongue when he felt the faint curvature of Montagne’s lips against his shoulder curve downwards in a frown. Montagne remained silent for a few moments, no doubt choosing his words carefully and left Bandit uncomfortable and out of place. _Vulnerable_. The tense silence accentuated the somber atmosphere and left Bandit breathless, suffering in the trepidation as he worried incessantly of what Montagne’s thoughts were.

“First of all, you’re not shitty.” Montagne stated before pressing a soft kiss between his shoulder and neck that no matter the circumstance always made his breath hitch in his throat. The sneaky bastard.

“You’re right though, I don't understand. But only because you never talk to me about these things, you leave me in the dark so you can suffer alone but that’s not how it’s supposed to work.” Montagne touched Bandit’s cheek softly before turning the German’s head so that they could look each other in the eyes, an act that would normally heighten Bandit’s guard and send him into a full-blown defensive mode, yet this time nearly melted his cold shell because it was _Montagne_. Montagne-who never gave up on Bandit even when he was at his lowest, who showed Bandit to see light while he was encased in bitter darkness. Bandit felt a stray tear fall down his face, caught by none other than Montagne who wiped it away and whispered something sweet Bandit didn’t understand in his mother language. He hadn’t even realized he was tearing up, too focused on the soft touch on his skin sparking pleasant electricity. A welcomed distraction.

“We’re a team, yeah? You don’t have to go through this by yourself-you have me and I'll be damned if this isn’t something we can get through together. You’re stronger than you know, Dominic.” it was all _too_. _much_. Bandit was now fully facing Montagne after developing a strain in his neck from peering over at the French man and hell, even _looking_ at Montagne was too much. The Frenchman kept his hand softly placed on Bandit’s cheek, softly brushing away tears he couldn’t hold in and smiling at him in reassurance. Bandit couldn’t help but let out a small smile mirroring his before wiping his eyes of the moisture that glistened them. 

“I-I can’t, it’s just not that simple-they’re not that simple. Hell, you know _nothing_ about me is simple. I can’t just tell you or describe it to you all in one sitting, and I’m not even sure if I’d want to bring it all back up again. You’d have to have seen for yourself.” Bandit let out a strained sigh before slouching down and touching his forehead against the crook of Montagne’s neck. Basking in the warmth exuded by Montagne, and once he felt the strong arms snaked around him give a reassuring squeeze, he continued. Biting his pride despite how much he wanted to refrain and downplay the situation like it was nothing despite his mother was literally_ fucking dying. _

“I never did have the best relationship with my parents, especially with my dad. Neither did my brother, but he knew how to deal with em' and get on their good sides. I never really cared and was too stubborn to listen to my brother about how best to tiptoe around them, and I guess that just pissed them off even more. I know they somehow probably loved me and yadda yadda, but they were definitely not the most… available. I mean I was always closest to my mother, but I grew apart from her as I neared my teens and Cedrick-” Bandit paused, letting out a shaky sigh and trembling as flashbacks came surging back to him. An influx of memories detailing faces he’s only somewhat forgotten came rushing back to him and nearly gave him whiplash, yet the one that stood most prominent was the youthful face of his brother. So full of life and energy even when he'd been facing hell headfirst. Memories of dark dusty rooms, the bone-chilling sound of electrical sparks and painfully familiar bloodcurdling screams mixed with a burst of derogatory laughter. His own personal nightmare. Sometimes when the screams got louder, he could smell the nauseating stench of burning skin. 

“Cedrick and I just… lost touch. Don’t know how the bastard tracked my email down, but it seems he still has his touch for something.” Bandit cringed, his voice breaking halfway through as he forced himself to swallow back a shaken breath that threatened to fall from his lips. Despite how appealing it sounded to let all of his emotions out at once, he had to keep his cool. Didn’t want to worry Montagne more than he had to. Pieces of the puzzle seemed to click together in Montagne’s head, his eyes shining with a more satisfied understanding and ample concern. 

“I see. I’m glad you told me, but what are you planning on doing?” _I haven’t gotten that far yet,_ Bandit thought bitterly. Originally, Bandit wanted to just ignore it. Live in his glorified ignorance, yet he knew that wouldn’t do any good for anyone-not even himself. The guilt would eat him alive, but then again any outcome would eat at him in some way or another. It all boiled down to how he _wanted_ to be eaten. Going back home would mean having to open wounds-and not just any wounds. Dirty, badly stitched up, infected wounds. He couldn’t imagine a scenario where he’d just go back without any kind of uncomfortable or hostile confrontation, it was impossible. Yet if he stayed at Hereford, it wouldn’t be any better. He’d obsessively worry and distance himself, and staying would solidify being practically dead to his family if they already don’t feel that way.

“I don’t know,” It was the painful truth;there was no easy way to deal with the situation. No slick words to get him out or physical confrontation to let him fight his way out. Bandit had his hands tied between two different paths of fate, and although there was truthfully only one right course of action-he didn’t think he was prepared to confront it all. Not now-not when he was so damned happy for once in his life merely by just existing next to his lover-but that was the problem wasn’t it? He wasn’t allowed any kind of respite, especially not one that made him so incredibly happy. Montagne’s disappointed gaze fixated on to him, staring right through his troubled soul. It was obvious what the right course of action should be.

“Hey-don't look at me like that. I know, I know, I should go see her. And see them-but I,” Bandit paused to inhale a deep breath, swallowing down the lump of sadness that started to swell in his throat and threatened to spill out. Montagne’s unoccupied hand snaked its way to grasp Bandit’s with a soft hesitant squeeze that gave Bandit all the encouragement he needed to continue.

“I’m scared, ah scheiße-i’m so fucking scared Gilles. I don’t know what I'll do if I have to go see them by myself-i’m not ready.” Choking up with emotion, Bandit stopped talking. Bandit watched thoughtlessly as Montagne trailed the hand resting on his own hand up to grasp the other side of his face to pull their foreheads together. Bandit relaxed in the loving display, taking long inhales of air to steady his shaky breathing. Bandit keened into the sounds of Montagne’s soft reassurances, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips when Montagne moved to plant a kiss on Bandit’s forehead. 

“It’s okay my love… I know how scared you are, but I really think you should go even if it’s only for a day. I’ll come with you.” Bandit’s eyes widened. Did he really want their first time going to Germany together having to be them shifting through awkward family problems, grief, and cold hostile confrontations? It was a childish thought, yet burdening Montagne with his own personal family problems right now was something he wanted to absolutely avoid. Though he realized that was quite silly the more he thought about it since while they’re together all of his problems are Montagnes and vice versa. Still, Bandit declined the offer with weak excuses to which Montagne continuously insisted and fought back with stronger retorts. 

Bandit couldn’t help but laugh, the Frenchman’s persistence eventually chipping away the last bit of control Bandit had. 

“You’re going to be the death of me, fine. But then again that’s only if Harry allows it-and who knows if he will let me go let alone the both of us.” 

  * \- -

Harry approved.

Approved them both, though he seemed hesitant about releasing two operators at the same time until the descriptions of their reasoning came into the conversation. Harry wasn’t so hesitant then and seemed to be both the most _excited_ and grieving despite not even being affected or going. Bandit couldn’t help but be slightly annoyed, a part of him wishing Harry had denied their request so he could use that as an excuse and be done with it all-yet it seemed to be his_ lucky day_. 

_I wish the White Masks would plan their chaotic bullshit when I’d need the excuse the most,_ he thought morbidly as he and Montagne packed. Bandit shoved every little thing he could cram in his suitcase whereas Montagne calmly folded and placed each item in an orderly fashion. The French man was of course more effective in his packing, having made a list of all the possible things he’d need whereas Bandit just threw anything that looked remotely useful in the case as he went along without thinking. 

The topic of Germany never came back up between the two again, yet stayed forever in the back of their minds. An elephant in the room kind of scenario, if the elephant was a gigantic elephant full of emotional turmoil and years of dark bitter memories. Bandit started to dread the passing days, getting more and more edgier as each minute passed by-not even Montagne’s touches or Jäger’s smartass quips and nerd facts brightened his mood. He shied away from most unneeded social interaction: he'd bit down the temptations of putting a dead rat in the ladies’ restroom with Smoke and yelled at Blitz for “breathing down his neck” even though the fellow German had been 3 feet away. The only one he didn’t bite was Montagne-the Frenchman somehow knew how to say the right things at the right time and cool him down without the use of a muzzle.

Germany eventually came back up into their conversations at nearly 2 in the morning-a time completely unacceptable by Montagne’s standards because the two would have to wake up in 5 hours' time to catch their flight yet he made an exception. He always made exceptions for Bandit. 

Bandit stared at the bleak ceiling, apprehension and storming thoughts keeping him awake and troubled deep into the night. He hadn’t even realized Montagne was staring at him until the heavy arm slung over his bare midriff moved up to squeeze his hand. 

“What are you thinking about, mon amour?” Montagne’s deep voice rumbled scratchily, affected by the sleep that was undoubtedly trying to catch up to him. Bandit opened his mouth to respond yet no words came out, forced into silence as his perilous thoughts returned and hit him full force. Thoughts of faded yet oddly familiar faces with wicked glints shining in their eyes and sharky smiles holding nothing but corrupt, depraved morals and intentions. Thoughts of dirtied rooms stained with dust, blood, and grime. If he tried hard enough he could still smell the mildew and sharp stench of motor oil. Could taste the metallic tang of blood in his mouth and suddenly Bandit started to feel hot. Suffocated. _Trapped_. Rough laughter pierced his mind and suddenly all he could think about were the screams of the helplessly extorted, cries of those he had to put down and those of who he had to watch suffer in silence for the _sake of the mission. _

There was nothing more haunting than the sounds of your own brother’s screeching-nothing more bloodcurdling than watching charring skin make way as strong waves of electricity surged painfully throughout your brother's frame. Nothing compared to having to stay silent, watching with a facade of indifference while your mind roared in anger and despair yet if he acted out he could ruin everything. Make matters worse. So he stayed still and watched, applied the spark plugs to areas effective enough to draw out the right sounds to appease those around him to deem him worthy to continue. Repressed himself into a cold shell of nothing-and perhaps that incident had been his saving grace and kept him alive throughout the remaining years by reducing him to a cold apathetic shell of the man he once was. But at what cost? He lost himself during every second of his brother’s torture and downfall. Reduced him to nothing but what he is now: an asshole on the verge of mental downpour. 

Bandit had been too quiet, too lost in his own train of morbid thoughts. Montagne squeezed his hand before moving it up to Bandit’s cheek, moving it to face him away from the blank ceiling to the Frenchman’s soft masculine features. Bandit blinked away the moisture glistening his eyes, subconsciously drifting to the warm sturdy body. Words were still not his friend right now despite his best efforts. The appeal of just spilling everything out onto Montagne was tempting, yet he couldn’t.

All he knew was to stay silent, cold, composed. Don’t let him see right through you._ He’ll eat you alive._

“Dominic?” Bandit flinched when a calloused thumb from the hand resting on his cheek started to softly rub comforting circles and all he could think of were the different times he saw this gesture-which on any normal day would’ve made him feel all giddy and joyful-began to feel like stab wounds. A taunting gesture, a faux sense of security. He remembers explicitly how desperate fools were eased into a forced comfort from mere depravity by this act before getting their faces smashed in until they were unrecognizable. Bandit held his breath, waiting with ghastly trepidation for the blow that would never come to him. 

Montagne seemed to sense Bandit’s change in demeanor and lifted the hand off his face with a frown, keeping both limbs close to himself to give Bandit enough space to breath. Bandit could see the vague glistening shape of a few tears cascading down the curvature of Montagne’s face. Had he really been tearing up? _All because of me?_ Bandit thought with disdain, grimacing at causing _more_ pain-hadn’t he already done enough? 

“Talk to me, mon amour please.” Montagne stressed, the pain visible on Montagne’s handsome features tearing holes in Bandit’s soul slowly. Bandit turned away from the Frenchman’s gaze, leaning over the bedside and stumbling to find a 3-day old glass of water because he needed a distraction. The luke-warm water felt like ice burning through his esophagus. He hadn’t realized how parched he was. Bandit let out a loud exhale through his nose as he stared at the wall adjacent to the bed, eyeing a frame housing a photo of the couple in it when they went to London. Bandit stared at the photo, detailing out every single piece of the photograph as he fought himself internally for words.

“Je ne peux pas.” He eventually managed to say, the foreign words coming out easier than anything he could’ve said in English or German despite probably having butchering the pronunciation. Bandit averted his gaze back to Montagne after setting down the now empty glass back down on the bedside table. 

“Expliquez, s'il vous plaît.” The corner of Bandit’s lips twitched upwards at the more eloquently spoken words, the french words turning the atmosphere more light-hearted despite the heavy sadness that drifted throughout the atmosphere. However there was still one problem with his lover’s request-

“_Je ne peux pas_.” Bandit repeated with a certain stress to his words, being sworn into a silent secrecy by an unknown force resonating deep inside him. Words were failing him, and he found he was unable to voice his turmoil correctly. Montagne stared at Bandit, unsure as to how to approach the conversation correctly and for the first time ever, he had no way to comfort Bandit. Scared that any wrong touch would send Bandit spiraling down into a path of self-defense. This revelation seemed to pain both parties. 

They stayed in silence, staring dumbfoundedly at one another-and Bandit was pretty sure he was holding his breath, trepidation running high in their bloodstreams. Both parties waited for one another to make the first move, Bandit expecting a reproachful comment about his lack of transparency. Maybe a bit of how much of a _horrible_ person, friend, and boyfriend he was-

“Tell me about Germany. I’ve never really stayed for very long to appreciate or really know it.” Bandit blinked, confused at the sudden inquiry. Out of all the possible things that could come out of Montagne’s mouth, he’s asking about his home country? Now? Bandit remained silent, lost in a rampant train of thought as he thought of the best way to respond. The silence that began to envelope the two was no longer uncomfortable and instead provided Bandit the proper solace he needed to be able to approach the topic as best as he could-the traumatic thoughts he held still had Bandit shaken to his core and thinking of his home country without also thinking about the horrible things he’d experienced in his personal and work life was difficult. _Think like a tour guide_ he told himself over and over yet that he couldn’t shake his trampled emotions that were beginning to get in the way of his thoughts. Everything he could think of from his home country for the most part held intimate connotations to him that brought a deeper emotional pain to his chest. Bandit doubted Montagne was interested in that though, probably expected him to gush over his homeland. The only problem being Bandit wasn't exactly the most patriotic. 

Germany was a basket of everything Bandit has grown up with and come to love and everything that’d drive him to the verge of a breakdown. While he held on fondly and was undoubtedly proud of his nationality and home country-he couldn’t help but fear it as well. Bandit has long stopped engaging in conversations with the other GSG9 operators when the topic of Germany was brought up, tuning out as their boisterous laughter would fill the room and overwhelm him. Because while they all spoke of their home cities, the current events, and shared stories of their pasts all Bandit could think of was his own experiences of life. Which, for the most part was purely negative because almost everything held a deeper meaning to him. He recalled a time when they first got together in Rainbow where Blitz gushed to Jäger about his shared name to the famed Jägermeister ( though Jäger adamantly refused correlation) all Bandit could think about the entire conversation was how he'd once beaten someone nearly to death with an empty bottle of Jägermeister after they'd continuously somehow ended up in the same rooms as him multiple times in the night. 

“I-uhh...” Bandit started to say, clearing his throat-and his thoughts- to give the Frenchman a proper answer. “What is it that you want to know? I guess for starters the beer is better than the piss water here, that’s for damn sure.” Bandit’s heart fluttered at the sound of Montagne’s deep laughter filling the room, and he couldn’t help but curl the edge of his lips into a coy smile. 

“Tell me anything you can,” 

They spent the following hours basking in each other’s company:Bandit humoring Montagne’s questions about his home country and feigning offense any time the Frenchman brought up anything _slightly_ stereotypical. Time not spent talking about Germany was filled with kisses and cautious touches until they both eventually found peace with the night, falling asleep in each other’s arms with only 2 hours to spare for sleep before the alarms on their phones would wake them up. 

  * \- 

Bandit hated flying. 

He always found the strangers who’d situate themselves next to him to be obnoxious just by merely _breathing_, and although the feeling has eased considerably, he still had a lurking fear of crashing that kept him on edge the entirety of the flight. Or maybe he was just on edge because of the inevitable fact that he was going to have to go to _Germany_ and combat _everything_ he’d been trying to hide from for the past few years.

It was hard to tell. 

The flight all in all was torturous. Next to Bandit sat an elderly woman who continuously tried engaging him in a conversation about how much he apparently looked like her son, and gave him back-handed compliments on his tattoos. Much to his relief she’d given up on trying to converse with Bandit roughly 30 minutes in-though he couldn’t help but notice she gave him sharp looks whenever he talked to Montagne. The Frenchman spent most of his time reading much to Bandit’s dismay because that meant he was left to either speak with the old woman or do nothing the entire flight. The latter option was the most tasteful, of course. He tried to gauge and follow along to whatever the hell it was that Montagne was reading-though it was all in French so Bandit was clueless each time his boyfriend turned the page. Bandit was glad the flight wasn’t very long, or else he’d surely have gone insane.

The flight, however, was probably going to be the best part of the day-and perhaps the next few days. That thought certainly didn’t give Bandit much confidence for what the oncoming days would bring. 

Despite his initial reluctance, Bandit was glad Montagne was here with him. A sturdy mountain to support him as he traversed the painfully familiar city of Berlin-and there was nothing more relieving than knowing that he had a whole mountain he could depend on. Montagne kept him level-headed, leaving quaint yet fulfilling touches of comfort that kept Bandit from staring off; lost in the painful familiarity of Berlin. Little touches on his shoulder steering him as they left the airport, a quick peck on his cheek when they’d eventually got inside of their rental car, and calloused fingers rubbing soothing circles as he nearly _punched_ in the address of his childhood home into the GPS were some of many.

The drive was filled with a crushing silence. Montagne gazed out the window lost in the expanse of Berlin architecture and geography, humming quietly to the mindless pop song that played softly on the untouched radio. The drive wasn’t very long, though the crushing feeling of what was waiting for him at their destination was enough to make Bandit self consciously savor the few moments of peace. Here in the quiet automobile was the only solace he knew he’d probably find, and as they neared closer to their destination Bandit couldn’t help but grow weary as each second passed. Bandit’s throat was dry and he couldn’t help but wince any time he’d recognize certain shops and the familiarity of the road designs suffocated him with wistful nostalgic memories.

Nothing was more bone-crushing than when the GPS pinged that they’d arrived at their destination. Bandit was haunted, swallowing thickly as his eyes gazed over the familiar house that had the same appeal to a dead decomposing rat. He didn’t want to touch it with a ten-foot pole. Bandit stared with furrowed brows at the home before taking multiple deep breaths. Bandit rested his forehead on the steering wheel of the rental car, muscles relaxing as he soon felt Montagne’s sturdy hand gently rub his back. 

“Whenever you’re ready chéri, take your time. I’ll be right here with you, you’re not alone.” 

They stayed for roughly 8 minutes together inside the car as Bandit collected himself, pushing down the bubbling thoughts and emotions down into a bottomless pit to keep them from spewing out and flooding the car with his insufferable bullshit. He could only hope he could stay like this the entirety of their stay, though as each minute passed it only got worse. Ice was flowing through his veins, the simple house holding wistful memories that tore him apart. He didn’t want to get out and was frozen to the seat of his car, hands gripping the steering wheel progressively tighter until it began to hurt. Bandit was just thankful none of the… _inhabitants_… of the house noticed the unfamiliar car parked in their driveway and came out to check out what was up. He’d have probably just gone up and left without looking back if that were to happen. 

Preparation is important after all-he has to lube his emotional state up before getting pounded by the painful confrontation that was to come. Otherwise it might scare him from trying it again. 

Eventually, Bandit wordlessly moved out of the car, staring at his forlorn expression in the tinted windows of the vehicle as Montagne followed. He stayed, hand resting atop the roof of the car as he gazed at the crumbling figure staring back at him. With a deep breath, Bandit moved towards the entrance of the house and halting from knocking at the door as the sound of soft voices could be heard from inside. He couldn’t quite discern whose voice belonged to whose and strained to understand the soft-spoken German words yet it was a fruitless task. Bandit frowned, unsure at how to feel at the revelation of having forgotten the voices of his family despite the familiarity of it all though there was a tone edged with a gruffed authoritative voice that made Bandit’s own voice hitch in his throat.

Bandit met Montagne’s eyes, reciprocating an ingenuine smile before averting his gaze back to the dark wooden frame of the door. Bandit let out a sharp exhale, biting his tongue as he gave a harsh knock-regret immediately surging throughout his system. The conversation inside had stopped almost immediately. 

“Who on earth could it be?” he could hear a feminine voice tinged with age inquire sharply, the voice becoming more understandable the closer he assumed the woman got to the door. Bandit tensed, brain connecting the dots and recognizing the voice as his aunt-Martha-who’d undoubtedly come to Berlin to support her sister and her family. Bandit recalled fond memories of his Aunt always visiting whenever her sister was in trouble-an arrangement so familiar to how it’d been with him and Cedrick it _hurt_. He thought of the warm summers staying in Dinkelsbühl with his Aunt during a rough time period in his adolescence when things hadn’t quite gone so right, and when home was beginning to feel less and less like home. He and Cedrick had no doubt been the cross their aunt had to carry for her sister’s sake, yet the affiliations of the carefree experiences and exhilarating laughter shared between him and his brother made him hold onto the memories with bittersweet ties. 

The sound of a door unlocking snapped him out of his thoughts. Anxiety rippled through Bandit as the door opened revealing a frail petite woman in dark gritty makeup and a bright floral sundress. A contrasting choice in attire definitely belonging to his Aunt. _She hasn’t changed a bit,_ he thought remorsefully_. “The world’s not this or that. Nobody is completely ditzy and bright or grim and dark-we’re all a little in between.”_ is what she’d said whenever anyone questioned her conflicting colors-a phrase Bandit realized had been more truthful than he’d originally given her credit for. 

Martha stood in the frame of the door in shock, staring at Bandit as if he was a ghost. Her mouth was slightly agape, and she seemed taken aback-not that he could blame her. Bandit never really _did_ respond back to the email sent to him, and the last time he’d seen his aunt in person was when he was 19. A completely different person than the one he was now-Bandit was surprised she’d even recognized him. 

“Dominic? Is that you, dear?” she asked hesitantly, an edged tone lacing her words. Bandit winced, though to be fair he was the expecting hostility. It’s been too long since he’d gone MIA in his family member’s lives-the majority of his family probably believed him to be dead. Looking at him probably _was_ like staring at a ghost after all, he realized. Bandit opened his mouth to answer but was cut off almost immediately, as his aunt spoke once more. 

“And who’s this? A friend? You’ve brought a complete stranger here-at a time like _this_?” Martha said with a frown, eyeing Montagne with suspicion. Montagne seemed to tense up at the attention brought to him and although he probably didn’t understand exactly what Martha had said, he could pick up at the hostile atmosphere beginning to form surrounding him._ It’s too late to back out of this now,_ Bandit thought with an amused huff. He could feel their presence being examined, though he couldn’t peek over into the door frame and check out the company that was probably nearby. A part of Bandit didn’t even want to know. Bandit pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes momentarily to regain his already shaken composure before responding. 

“This is Gilles. He’s my friend. A really close friend, not a complete stranger.” Bandit explained, eyeing the older woman’s grimace ease slightly though there was still a hint of annoyance gleaming in her hazel eyes. 

“Maybe not to you, but a complete stranger to everyone else. Your mother’s already overwhelmed enough as it is without more company in her house.” Martha turned to look at Montagne before reaching out a reluctant hand to shake Montagne’s. 

“I'm Martha, Dominic’s Aunt,” she introduced herself following up with reluctant pleasantry: “I’m sorry for my rudeness dear, you’ve just come at a very bad time.” Montagne blinked, confusion spread on his face-though he shook her hand regardless and gave an uncomfortable smile at her words. Bandit would’ve laughed at it all if it wasn’t for the circumstance. 

“Oh. He doesn’t-_he doesn’t speak German._” Bandit clarified after Montagne’s pitiful awkwardness and his aunt’s growing agitation at not getting a proper response. Martha retracted her hand to glare at Bandit, letting out a huff at the inconvenience and embarrassment of speaking to someone who couldn’t understand her. She opened her mouth to respond only to be caught off guard by two figures approaching the commotion in hesitant curiosity. Bandit chewed on the inside of his lip. He recognized both beings as his cousin and Uncle, both regarding him in surprise-though they made no move to approach Bandit. Not that he was complaining-quite the opposite. 

“Dom,” One of them-his Uncle Derek- greeted in a cold tone. The other, Wes, regarded him quietly though eyed Montagne suspiciously before moving away from the door to let Martha back inside to make room for Bandit and Montagne to come in. Bandit glanced around the entryway of the house, a sharp sting piercing his heart as he saw the familiar items arranged deliberately in the house. It was like nothing had changed, and he was 18 again. Bandit purposely avoided looking at any photographs in fear of the crushing feeling that’d arise from seeing the photos of the past ignorant to the outcome of the present. Bandit followed Martha begrudgingly into the living room, suddenly aware of all the curious eyes locked on his figure. The room remained silent as he stood there awkwardly with Montagne next to him. He felt trapped-like he was on a trial suffocating in the gaze of an unforgiving jury. Bandit remained still, fearing any sudden movement would spark an ignition into his family and turn the room from passive to aggressive. The implicit eyes stared holes into Bandit and it was all too much for him to handle. He wasn’t prepared to face the full-blown weight of his collective family.

In the early years of being undercover, Bandit recalled an incident involving a dog. The dog was a feisty nearly untameable beast that induced a fury most could cease yet had grown a soft spot for Bandit. He didn’t last long-anything uncontrollable was a nuisance and burden the gang couldn’t bear. After the dog had attacked someone for raising their voice and getting a little to close-nearly maimed the man unrecognizable-Bandit watched the dog’s last few minutes of life cornered, fear and fury radiating off the animal. It was the first of many Bandit had witnessed the deaths of things he’d somewhat cherished without the ability to fight back or with the option to try and detain the situation. Bandit still could hear the whimpers, howls, and snarls haunt him any time he’d think about it. Bandit was beginning to feel very similar to the dog, waiting for its untimely horrible death under the disdainful eyes of those he’s known since a pup. He felt cornered, suffocating in the limitless expanse of disappointment, fear, and disdain. He felt like yowling out in terror to attract any kind of help, yet here he was at the mercy of those surrounding him. 

“Well, I’m not sure if anybody else noticed but we have a few guests with us now.” Martha spoke, breaking the silence and seemed agitated at the quiet development. Bandit blanked out, not even paying much attention to the conversation beginning to sprout. He was too busy drowning. 

Bandit felt the soft touch of a hand on his lower back, steering him towards the kitchen area connecting to the living room. Bandit leaned against a counter, rubbing his temples and appreciating the change in scenery even if it was only a brief change. He could still overhear the conversation taking place, gathered bits and pieces of it to distinguish their thoughts. 

“I can’t believe he’s decided to come at a time like this, but it’s better than nothing I guess.” His cousin Wes uttered spitefully to Martha. 

“Does anybody even know where he’s been? I haven’t heard from him in years and now he suddenly shows up? As if he hadn’t been gone all this time?” Another cousin spat out.

Others talked of Montagne’s presence, finding it inappropriate to have someone unfamiliar to the family at such an intimate moment but Bandit couldn’t care less. He’s the only string keeping Bandit intact and kept him from spewing out all his ugly emotions out like a cesspool. 

“I cant-I-we shouldn't have come here.” Bandit began to babble staring at the wooden flooring below his feet, making out every imperfection on every plank as an ample distraction from just _bursting_. 

“We’ve already come so far chérie,” Montagne moved to hold his hands, rubbing soft circles around the knuckles. “We don’t have to stay for so long if it truly bothers you-okay? We can spend the rest of the days here somewhere else, yeah? Or fly back to England.. Just, say your goodbyes-please? You’ll regret it if you don’t.” Bandit almost laughed. He’s already had so much more regrets-adding on one more certainly won’t be very hard. Though Montagne was expecting Bandit to find solace and confront the demons eating him alive, and Bandit didn’t want to disappoint his lover. He’s already disappointed too many people if the judging stares from the people dwelling in the living room were accounted for. 

“_England_? Is that where you’ve been all this time?” A rough voice from nearby said and Bandit tensed, holding his breath as he whipped his head around to get a glimpse of his _father_ standing next to the bar table separating the kitchen from the living room adjacent to him. Or, this was a shell of his father. Grief clearly was taking a hold of the older man, deep bags wore under his eyes accented not only from his old age. He looked haunted. A stark contrast to the rough, loud, and controlling person he’d grown up with all his life. There was still a hint of authority and strength in his voice, though Bandit reckoned that was brought by his and Montagnes’ nuisance. _I’m still the one in control._ His father seemed to say wordlessly, demeanor reserved and cold-like a wolf regarding mangy strays trespassing on his territory._ Get too close or comfortable and I'll bite,_ he pictured his father growling. 

“Yes. It’s where I'm stationed, and where I met Gilles.” Bandit stated in English to signify the language change, though his father stubbornly disregarded that and eyed Montagne with indignation. Bandit tensed his jaw watching as the scene in front of him played out. Montagne gave a small wave, a smile filled with genuinity and reserved respect that rivaled his father’s dark grimace and utter disdain painted on the older man's face. The following events could only be best described as fire versus ice with Montagne trying best to warm the icy atmosphere with nothing but calm collected words and gestures. But his father would repent, and he probably should've given Montagne a better warning and more insight into how best to handle his father. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Brunsmeier. I really do apologize for intruding on something so private and dire.” Montagne greeted. Bandit noted the thickness in Montagne’s accent-and the only times he’d ever heard his “Frenchness” truly come out was when he was under stress. Bandit scowled.

“Apologies mean nothing when you’ve already done it, stop with that.” Bandit heard his father growl-in _German_. Montagne, confused, said nothing and bit his lip tentatively. Bandit furrowed his eyebrows regarding his father with the same fiery rage he'd harbored the last time he’d set foot in the house years ago because_ how dare he?_

“No need to be a fucking dick. I wouldn’t have even come if it wasn’t for him! He’s a fucking person too and deserves respect, just like you require from everybody else!” Bandit raised his voice subconsciously, and _oh boy._ The emotions he’d tried so damned hard to bury deep within him were resurfacing once more-and an emotional furious Bandit would be a storm Bandit wouldn’t wish on anyone right now. 

“Don't be a dick, eh? You haven’t reached out to anyone in years. We’ve been worried sick about you. You’re the dick in this scenario, Dominic. You come back unexpectedly when your damned mother is on her deathbed and bring someone who doesn’t belong here with you? _Who the hell even are you?”_ His father regarded Montagne finally, the last sentence spoken in English-though the language shift didn’t mean much considering Montagne seemed to be at a loss for words regardless. Bandit remained silent, cringing internally upon noticing that it was eerily silent. Everyone in the living room was staring at the arguing group. Martha sat up from the leather couch she was sitting in before, exasperation pooling in her dark brown eyes as she regarded all three men with annoyance. 

“Are you serious? At a time like this, you two argue? May I remind you Ana is living her last few days of life in the other room, I don't think loud yelling and arguing was how she wanted to spend it! Go take this outside if you lot want to behave like animals!” The older woman hissed, venom lacing her tone but Bandit didn’t have time to mull over it. The sound of a bedroom door opening was heard a few feet away and garnered everyone’s attention almost immediately. Bandit nearly choked, aghast because nothing could’ve prepared him for this._ Shit. _

The familiar face of his twin stood peeking his head out through the cracked doorway, scanning the room until dark brown eyes fell upon his figure. Cedrick’s demeanor immediately softened upon seeing him and seemed just as shocked and nervous as he did. 

“Dom? Is that you?” Cedrick said, moving aside to let an enraged nurse through who gave off a fiery energy rivaling Martha’s. Bandit didn’t preen into the Nurse’s scolding about the volume levels and instead had his focus entirely on Cedrick, and despite the flood of people situated in the house it felt like it was just them on this plane of existence. They stared at each other, two deer caught in the blinding headlights of a large emotional truck not knowing what to do other than feel the collision. 

Bandit nodded, eyes stinging with sharp tears he desperately tried to hold back. His head felt like a balloon that was about to explode, the day just adding more and more air. Bandit winced. The day wasn’t even close to being over and there was still so much more he’d have to deal with. Behind his brother’s figure, he could already see the frame of a bed and could almost hear the disheveled, raspy breaths of air emanating from the being only barely living in the bedroom. The nurse had stopped talking, moving towards Bandit and tapping him on the shoulder to draw him out of his daze.

“Dominic, yes? I’ve heard a bit about you, are you going to see her? This might be one of the last chances-she’s only just now giving signs she’s responsive. Your brother has been with her for a good while yet up until 30 minutes ago she didn’t seem very responsive I’d recommend it now…” Bandit couldn’t bear to listen to the daunting medical information that continued sprouting from her mouth. Montagne seemed to shift nearby. Bandit glanced at the Frenchman’s direction and swallowed dryly as he saw a look of pity in his blue eyes, mouthing the words “go”. 

So Bandit did, but not without grabbing his boyfriend’s hand and dragging him along despite the resistance. He needed the support of his mountain more than ever at a time like this. Bandit didn’t give it a second thought ignoring the way Montagne immediately tensed up and seemed hesitant to follow and the look of pure horror painted on his relative’s faces. He rolled his eyes. _The audacity._ he thought with pitiful amusement. Bandit gave a wary glance at Cedrick, who’s guarded expression was scarily unfamiliar. His disregard for the overbearing openness of his emotions was what got him exposed and caused his downfall. Bandit wondered what all had changed with Cedrick, though if the healed scars of burned skin splotched all over his body and developed limp said anything_-a lot._ But that was okay, because a lot has changed with him too.

A squeeze to his hand brought from Montagne snapped him out of his thinking, and Bandit watched breathlessly as Cedrick squeezed his way out of the bedroom and past Bandit and Montagne. Bandit felt like vomiting seeing his brother limp uselessly, clutching onto a cane as if it was a gift from god himself-though he supposed to his brother it was a deity. The skinny wooden rod was the only reason why the man wasn’t in a wheelchair. Bandit trudged into the bedroom, purposely staring at the ground before sitting down on a chair facing the bed. 

Soft methodological beeping from the heartbeat monitor and his mother’s quiet scraggly breathing and humming was the only thing that filled in the silent void. Bandit felt Montagne’s hand move up from his hand to his shoulder, giving it a quick squeeze. 

“Ma, Mom-Mama,” Bandit began, voice breaking as he glanced up to see someone who was _not_ his mother in the bed. The woman was fragile, weak, and lay almost motionless in the bed though the tips of her lips perked up slightly when Bandit spoke. The mother Bandit had grown up and loved was a strong woman filled with resilience. This was an imposter wearing his mother’s skin. 

“It’s Dominic… Been a while, yeah?” Dominic let out an amused self-pitying breath and could feel himself crumple down into a puddle of molten disaster at the breathy sounds of acknowledgment-or maybe it had been a laugh came from his mother, as if she was trying to communicate with him in her own sickly death language. It was heart-wrenching. 

“I’m sorry I've been gone for so long and showing up at a time like this-but… I just-I love you, okay? I’m sorry for staying away from everyone and not catching up. It’s not anyone’s fault but my own and yeah it’s all so shitty but-” He took a deep breath, relaxing into Montagne who was standing behind him. “I was so scared. Of you, dad, and Cedrick. after what happened with him I-” Another sharp intake of breath. “I thought it was best for me to stay away, I'm sorry. I should’ve called for holidays, for your birthdays-but I just couldn’t .. I’m a coward and I’m so sorry, I-I’ve been a bad son. Even since childhood and although it’s too late for me to make up all this lost time-I… I just wanted to let you know I love you.” A Pause. Bandit stared forlornly at the sickened woman, watching the rise and fall of her chest. 

“I met someone, though… Gilles. He’s here with me and has helped me so much through the two years we’ve been together and encouraged me to come. I think you’d like him... I don't know what I'd do or where I'd be without him, I love him so much and he’s helped me so much...” 

Bandit rambled on elaborating on his work field, his co-workers, and the road he’d had to suffer through alone for years-though he treaded over it lightly in order to keep his mother from becoming uncomfortable or distressed. She of all people deserved an explanation for his absence, his mother had always been the one to support him the most throughout his early childhood. Abandoning her like that was uncalled for and selfish-and it seemed as if karma was finally taking a morbid toll. She was the only person Bandit felt comfortable with growing up. His father had always been distant, yet demanded an overbearing amount of respect anyways that didn’t seem fair growing up. Being around him had always been similar to walking on eggshells, though Bandit being stupidly stubborn probably didn’t make his life any easier. Cedrick had been one of his only childhood friends growing up as sad as it was, yet even they drifted apart as they neared their teens. Rivalry was strong between them-neither wanting to be stuck in a label as “just the twin” and it only surged stronger and stronger until the very end. The final confrontation, either go down with him or be the one to prevail. 

Flashes of recently seen burn scars and limping went through his mind with a shudder. Bandit thought of what happened the years after the incident-the unfathomable atrocities foreseen and left unspoken, the stench of death blood and motor oil, the repression of his previous self that still to this day hasn’t been uncovered. 

Had he been the one to truly "prevail" his brother or had he been the one to fall, left to rot in his own self-brought demise?

  * \- 

By the time Bandit left the room being shooed out by a remorseful nurse after he’s said all he could of important, his relatives had seemed to have been trickling out of the house. The only ones to remain still were his Aunt and Uncle-of course his dad, Cedrick, and a small chubby woman who he learned was Cedrick’s fiancé stayed behind as well. Cedrick’s fiancé-Gina-attempted to make small talk, seeming persistent to get to know her future brother-in-law yet eventually gave up after her fruitless attempts were met with nothing but cold dismissal. Montagne was willing however, seeming relieved to finally have met a friendly face among the residents of the house who were willing to speak a language he could understand. Bandit left the two to their own conversation before walking towards the empty kitchen, grabbing a soft drink to appease the rough feeling of a dry throat. He’d been holding back from crying, and it certainly was taking a toll on his physical state. Bandit could feel familiar eyes pierce his backside as he took a swing of the drink, and it almost seemed as if the gaze was tearing him open to get to his innards and find his rotten core. He tried to ignore the stare, hoping it’d go away-yet to no avail. The man was oblivious to Bandit’s ignorance and initiated a conversation he’d rather never have regardless. 

“I didn’t think you’d actually come.” The ghost stated warmly, and Bandit froze. Where were the harsh words? Icy undertones? He expected to immediately be inflicted by a venomous strike that was well deserved, yet it seemed as if the snake had better ideas. Bandit turned, staring at Cedrick as if he’d grown two heads and was on fire. Cedrick crooked an amused eyebrow up before letting out a soft chuckle. Bandit merely gave a noise of acknowledgement, fearing the words that would spill out of his mouth. Bandit stared blankly as Cedrick shifted his weight to lean against the corner of the counter opposite to the refrigerator, and stared solemnly back at Bandit. He flicked his eyes down to Cedrick’s exposed arms, the splotchy burn marks and wounds painting an ugly canvas of skin telling a story of betrayal-yet if the way he held himself indicated anything he seemed almost indifferent to it. As if it was merely something he was born with rather than forced to endure. 

“Yeah, me neither.” Bandit replied honestly, tasting the heavy words on his tongue as they left his mouth. Cedrick’s eyes flickered to where Gina and Montagne were talking in the dining room in hushed voices, his lips turned upwards in a small smile. 

“You’ve met Gina I take it?” Bandit winced, recalling how he treated the bubbly woman with nothing but coldness. _Whoops_.

“Yeah.” An amused incredulous huff left Cedrick’s mouth. The two brothers stared off in the distance towards the directions of their lovers in silence, listening in on their conversation. 

_“...French? Wow! Salut, ça va?”_ He heard the feminine voice of Gina say along with a burst of bubbly laughter that seemed to be contagious, as he heard Montagne laugh along with her and her stiffly spoken french greeting. 

_“Je vais bien.”_ Montagne purred warmly, seeming ecstatic at the friendly exchange and ability to speak his mother tongue-even if it was basic phrases. Bandits heart ached, remembering just how uncomfortable the Frenchman had probably been through this whole experience-caught in the crossfire of tense family standoffs. Bandit made a mental note to himself to apologize at a later date. 

“So, this Gilles-who is he?” Bandit frowned. If he were to be asked that one more time he’d _literally_ combust, annoyed by having to repeat himself. But Cedrick examined him with studious eyes, and _yeah_. Bandit should’ve really known better, there was no way Cedrick hadn’t caught on that they were more than good friends. Don’t get him wrong-Bandit wasn’t ashamed of the loving relationship he shared with Montagne-though they’d both equally agreed that this would probably not be the right time to openly come out. Besides-if anybody really got curious it wouldn’t be hard to put two and two together. Especially with the loving glances they both gave each other and the gestures of comfort that would otherwise seem overbearing and much if it came from just a friend. 

“What do you want from me, Cedrick?” 

Another pause, both parties remaining silent and left the sounds of their lover’s conversation drown out the room to devoid it off heavy silence. Bandit could feel Cedrick’s piercing gaze fixated on him-a challenge. 

Yet when he’d glanced at his twin, all he saw in those brown eyes was a deep-rooted sadness and pity. No shred of rivalry or jealousy that he’d remembered so vividly. No challenge, just an expression of defeat and hurt.

“I want my brother back.” Bandit’s heartbeat quickened, chest constricting at the raw display of desperation seeping from his brother. But it didn’t seem like he was done quite yet. 

“I was so angry at you and wanted nothing more to hear back from anyone that you were dead-failed and got exposed like me just so I could flaunt that you were just as shit at it as I was. Also I just wanted you to feel the same amount of pain as I went through,” Cedrick signaled to his body eyes narrowing to the multitude of burns scarred on his skin and to the cane that leaned against a counter next to him and letting out an embarrassed chuckle-as if his feelings were something _unwarranted_ and to be_ ashamed of._ Bandit completely understood the hate his brother had harbored and hell-he was still confused as to why vengeful feelings seemed to be gone.

“Through the years I’ve realized how… foolish it’d all been. How foolish I’ve been. I hated you, but I never accounted for how you must’ve felt. What it must have been like to go through hell alone with the guilt of your actions weighing in on your chest-and for that I apologize. I was never there for you growing up and I’ve been so caught up in my own selfish worldview when back then, I was careless and almost sabotaged everything we’d built together back then to just stay alive and get the right intel. I’m sorry for that but among all creating a rift between us all because I felt threatened by you and hell-I know I’m the reason you distanced yourself from everyone after… After what happened.” 

Bandit listened to Cedrick ramble intently and when his brother finished, he was at a loss of words. He was seething: feeling it unfair that it was _Cedrick_ of all people apologizing-not him. He doesn’t deserve Cedrick’s forgiveness, he’d long learned to accept that and having that ideal flipped enraged Bandit. Another, more primal selfish part of Bandit, was relieved to hear his twin content about the situation. It gave him a more desirable welcomed feeling that his mentality definitely needed after countlessly encountering nothing but turmoil. First with his dad, second with his mother, and if he had to deal with Cedrick’s cold hostility-he’d probably call off the trip short. _Coward_, he tutted to himself with a dark frown. 

Bandit glanced away from Cedrick, turning to pick up a bottle of spice and read its labels as if it was the most groundbreaking revolutionary item in order to distract him from looking directly at Cedrick. Bandit swallowed thickly, opening and closing his mouth to respond to Cedrick’s heartfelt statement yet nothing came out. He couldn’t find words, and would feel disgusted if he accepted Cedrick’s “apology”. Because he shouldn’t be the one apologizing. 

“How has everyone been-after everything that’s happened?” Cedrick frowned, undoubtedly upset at the topic change and not receiving the response he probably expected to get-yet obliged with the conversation’s shift regardless.

“Pulling through, I guess. Kind of unofficially mourned for you, got comfortable for a bit, then of course mama started battling cancer on and off till now where it seems it’s finally caught up to her. She asked about you, y'know. Wanted to see you despite everyone’s protests-it’s why i went out of my way to track you down via email. Thank god I still knew a few folks' who knew of your whereabouts. Didn’t think you were professional enough to actually check your emails though.” 

Bandit bit the inside of his cheek. 

_I wish I wasn’t,_ he thought to himself but did not dare spill out his thoughts remaining quiet.

  * -

“That wasn’t so bad,” Montagne mused, thoughtfully placing out clean clothes and bathroom essentials out on the empty space of one of the unoccupied beds in their hotel room. Despite Cedrick’s protests, there was simply no space for him and Montagne in their parent’s house for them to stay in. Pretty much any piece of furniture was claimed by someone, and Bandit doubted anyone really wanted his or Montagne’s presence around for much longer than necessary while tensions were running high. Besides, Bandit appreciated his privacy. 

“Gilles, darling, love of my life, we literally got the stink eye from nearly everyone. If that wasn’t bad, I don’t know what is. Fuck, where the fuck did I put my toothbrush.” Montagne gave a shrug before pulling out a familiar toothbrush with a _kissable_ shit-eating grin. 

“I’ve got you covered, I knew you’d forget it.” Montagne said with a laugh before forging over the toothbrush to Bandit. 

“Oh, shit-you’re an actual lifesaver. Thank you so much-Jesus christ. The last thing I want is to have to use your toothbrush or run down somewhere to get a new one.”

“Of course, no need to thank me chéri-though you can repay my good deeds by joining me in the shower, hmm?” Bandit’s eyebrows raised slightly before smirking, nodding as he followed the French operator towards the bathroom and began ridding himself of his clothes as soon as he stepped foot inside the smaller chilled room. 

“Dom I love you, but I’d never let you use my toothbrush by the way. I’m sorry.” Bandit let out a small laugh, along with a soft “tsk”ing sound as he turned on the water before turning back to an amused Montagne. 

“We’ve literally had eachother’s _cocks_ in our mouths and tasted each other’s cum but you’re shy to _toothbrush sharing?_” Bandit perked an amused eyebrow at Montagne’s bashfulness, watching the taller Frenchman with interest as they squeezed in the shower space that was _definitely_ not meant for two large muscular men. 

“Well-yes. But ah-that’s different y’know.” Montagne said sheepishly, hiding his face in the crook of bandit’s neck as the German laughed at Montagne’s shy retorts. 

The two basked in the relief of the warm water rolling over their skin, silently engaging each other with washing each other’s bodies. They exchanged no words, already being well equipped with the elephant in the room yet neither of them made an effort to approach the topic latched onto the corners of their minds. Breathless heated kisses were shared between the two operators as the brisk shower pattered over their bodies.

Bandit was desperate for a momentary distraction, favoring the bombardment of pleasurable feelings over the distressed ones he knew would kick in as soon as Montagne would fall asleep later on in the night. Bandit couldn’t help the overwhelming visceral feeling of carnal desire flood his system as soon as he felt Montagne’s cock give an interested twitch against his thigh, all inhibitions flown out the window. Greedily, Bandit shuffled closer to Montagne and pressed himself flat against the Frenchman and surged entryway into Montagne’s mouth swallowing the delicious groan that left his lover’s mouth. Bandit was almost 100% positive there were still remnants of shampoo still in his hair that risked getting into his eyes-yet he didn’t care. 

Because he _needed_ this, more than he’d ever needed the Frenchman before. Bandit let out a strangled mewl as he felt Montagne’s sturdy hands leave his hips to grasp both of their dicks. Languid strokes provided Bandit with ample pleasure, the feeling left Bandit out of breath and panting against Montagne’s shoulder. It was everything he needed-the pleasures blinding and delicious and built up a stronger feeling that pooled in his gut. He was-

He was _overwhelmed_. 

The constant beating of the shower on his skin, the surge of pleasure running course through his veins and pooling in his lower gut, the tension and emotional distress from earlier events, and Montagne in all his glory. All of these factors collided with each other, and while on a purely physical level Bandit was on a high of euphoric pleasure he also felt like _screaming_ simultaneously. The feeling was distinct to overstimulation and was bordering on painful-especially when he glanced over and saw Montagne beaming at him with that _damned_ loving stare. He didn’t deserve Montagne, and Montagne sure as hell didn’t deserve being dragged into this. 

A sob he hadn’t even known he’d been holding back escaped from his lips, opening the floodgates as a horde of sobs and soft cries tumbled from his lips shortly after. The hand wrapped around their erections immediately stopped and Montagne’s expression shifted to concern nearly immediately, sputtering apologies as he turned off the water. Bandit’s heart ached, seething at himself for ruining such a tender moment and turning it awkward.

“Dom, I-_Shit_, I’m so sorry-what happened?” Montagne fretted, _undeserved_ concern glistening in the Frenchman’s gaze. Shaking his head, Bandit rested his forehead atop of the Frenchman’s chest as he gathered himself together. Montagne, still confused, simply rested his hand on the Bandit’s back as Bandit let out loose muffled cries. 

“I’m sorry,” Bandit mustered out, adjusting to peer over Montagne’s shoulder at the pristine white tile in order to avoid Montagne’s worried look eating him alive. 

“No, no my love-there’s no need to apologize.” Montagne clarified before moving out of the shower to grab the towels resting on the sink, with Bandit following suit shortly after. They dried off in a tense silence, avoiding bringing up the events that transpired a few minutes ago. 

_“What happened?”_ He eventually heard the fateful question later on after the two huddled together under the uncomfortable bedsheets of the shared hotel bed, cloaked by nothing but the darkness of the late night. Bandit found himself more at ease in the shroud of dark ambiguity, appreciating the lack of direct eye-contact. That way, he could get his thoughts out as effectively as possible whilst avoiding the emotional obstacle of having Montagne read him like an open book via his eyes and expression. 

“Everything,” Bandit stressed, letting out a deep troubled sigh as he stared up at the shadowed ceiling. “I just got overwhelmed I guess-with my mother, Cedrick, and then everything you're doing for me..." He croaked, cringing at the words coming out of his mouth because when had he become such an emotional coward? 

“No, what happened?” Montagne stressed, hesitant desperation evident lacing his tone. Bandit froze before moving his eyes from the ceiling back to Montagne, breath catching in his throat as he made eye contact with the Frenchman. It was too dark in the room to appropriately read the expression on his face, yet luckily Bandit spent years playing in the dark. Montagne held a frown-though Bandit couldn’t piece together whether Montagne was upset at him or his lack of transparency. _Maybe a little bit of both?_ He worried, the heavy weight of anxiety pooling in his gut. 

“I’m a fuck up. I’ve fucked things up since childhood, I’ve fucked people over in general, and I’m just fucked up in general.” This explanation didn’t seem to satisfy Montagne, as he could see Montagne’s frown deepen into a scowl that intensified the anxious feeling gnawing in Bandit’s gut and turned it into something more… primal. Flight or fight was kicking in, and for the first time Bandit was feeling trapped-cornered by his own _lover_ and his disappointment. Unlucky, because Bandit was already accustomed to disappointing people. Bandit stared at Montagne as he saw the Frenchman’s body rise, sitting up on the bed rather than lying down and Bandit could almost taste the mix of anger, sadness, and concern radiating off the Frenchman. It was not a pleasant taste. 

“Dom, please-you know that doesn’t explain anything. I’m here for you, and I want to help you-but I can’t if I don’t understand anything. You constantly do this, and I can’t pretend it’s okay anymore. Not when you break down in the shower like that-please it hurts me seeing you like this…” 

Bandit blocked out Montagne’s voice of concern albeit guiltily. He did not need to hear this, for his own sake. Storming, Bandit got off the bed without a word and shoved off Montagne’s hand that reached for him. Pulling on a pair of dirty jeans. He needed a smoke, or alcohol-or maybe he could punch a tree until his knuckles bled. something to make him forget the chaos. 

“Dom.” Bandit grabbed his phone off the charger without hesitation.

“_Dominic_.” Bandit refused to glance at the Frenchman, his stony facade would no doubt crumble seeing Montagne in any sort of emotional state which he no doubt was in due to the heavy syllables drawn out and croaked in the simple plea of his name. Thoughts of pained struggled gasps and sizzling electricity plagued his mind. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d have to ignore someone calling out his name in a desperate plea of distress.

“Dominic, you can’t just keep running away like this-where are you going?” Bandit hadn’t heard Montagne move off the bed and was unpleasantly surprised when he was suddenly grabbed by the forearm, rough grasp that was normally so soft and careful holding him in place almost painfully. He wanted out. Without thinking, Bandit slammed his free arm into the heavy wooden frame of the hotel door just to feel _something_ he could control and marveled in the brief spark of pain surging throughout his arm. 

“You want to know what the _fuck_ is wrong with me?! I feel like I'm dead to my family-probably was thought to be dead until I randomly show up to the doorstep! My goddamn mother is dying and nobody probably would’ve even told me if it wasn’t for the fact that one of her _dying wishes_ was to see me or at least know if I was fucking alive or dead because I haven’t talked to anyone in years. And you want to know why that is? Because I'm a piece of shit. You know all those horrible scars Cedrick’s has? Me. His limp? Me. I did that-I shouldn’t be here don't you understand? I’ve done so many fucked up things. You don’t understand what it’s like to wake up every day and spend every second of your life fretting over each and every thing you say or do or it’s you who ends up dead. you don’t understand how many people I've had to hurt. How many suffering people I've had to leave behind and let suffer. I don’t deserve the privilege of being here and honoring my mother’s last few days of life, I don’t deserve anything other than a prison cell just like the rest of those low lives, and out of everything I especially don't deserve _you_.” 

Bandit sobbed as he was hesitantly pulled into a tight embrace to which Bandit reciprocated albeit reluctantly. Bandit let out pathetic wails into Montagne’s naked chest, his whole body trembling as years and years of the emotions he had repression in bitter silence came out in the form of tears and heart-wrenching cries. 

“I. Don't. Deserve. You.” Bandit emphasized each word with a soft punch to Montagne's chest, voice breaking and he was extremely glad Montagne was holding onto his trembling form tightly or else he’d probably have fallen unceremoniously to the floor. Montagne ran his fingers through Bandit’s soft hair, muttering incoherent words in his ear-only they _weren’t words._ They were sobs not unlike his own, and it took an embarrassing amount of time to realize _Montagne was crying as_ well. Bandit reached over to pat Montagne lightly on the back, reveling in the Frenchman’s rare showcase as he himself let go of his own distress in the few choked up sobs he couldn’t contain. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Je t'aime tellement-don't say such things. We’ve all done things that we regret, I'm sorry I've forced this all out of you but I worry mon amour. I can’t say much for what’s happened with you and your brother and what you’ve done before Rainbow-but you’re not the same person as you were then. You’ve changed so much, and I'm so so proud of the person you’ve become-_god_ I,” Montagne babbled before breaking off in another spiel of uncontrolled sobs.

“I shouldn’t have yelled,” Bandit murmured, breathing in the smell of cheap hotel body wash as he tried to calm himself down. 

“I shouldn’t have pried.” Montagne’s voice was low, shaky, _vulnerable_. Everything opposite of the Montagne he’d come to know, the intimacy of such a strong emotionally secure man breaking down just as much as Bandit was provided Bandit with an existential reminder that Montagne was human too. Probably repressing emotionally heavy thoughts of his own and_ dear god, has _he really been so selfish? 

“No. No, god no-you’re right to do that though. I can’t just drag you to an unfamiliar country and let you deal with all this without letting you in on anything. I’ve been unfair to you, I’m sorry.” Bandit allowed Montagne to drag him back to the empty hotel bed, sitting down on the pale messy sheets and staring at the ink on his hands. Bandit hated to admit it, but the miscellaneous prints on his body disgusted him. The art all holding distant memories of the past and reminding him of what he had been, and might still even be. Bandit traced the outlines of the ink on his arms, ignoring the pounding in his head and the sharp sting of tears bombarding his senses. He hadn’t heard the question Montagne asked, too enveloped in the thought of how the man who’d done one of his sleeves was slaughtered like a pig-his unbelievable luck in poker not carrying over into everyday life. 

“_I love you._” Bandit said suddenly, shifting his gaze from the poison on his skin to the Frenchman who sat a few spaces away from him on the other side of the bed. Judging by the momentarily look of confusion, it was definitely not the response to whatever it was he said he was expecting. 

“I love you too,” Montagne eventually replied, silence soon following some time after that was by no means uncomfortable. Both operators were lost in their own train of thought, and it was almost as if neither of them were in each other’s proximity. Merely existing next to each other- particles of dust floating in a spectrum of nothingness. Absorbed in their own thoughts of one another and the events that have transpired. The knowledge of each other gained, and the knowledge they both adamantly refused to give up. Their self-absorbed illusion, floating absentmindedly in the vacuum of purely just existing, was broken by the rumbles of a stirred mountain. 

“You know, I still think of Marie sometimes and what I could’ve done more to salvage our broken marriage.” The sudden words spoken brought pain to Bandit, a deep rooted jealousy of the slight hint of wistfulness in Montagne’s tone of voice brought out the worst of Bandit’s insecurities. Yet he remained silent. Montagne’s ex-wife was a topic they never ventured over other than Bandit knowing of her existence from Montagne’s background description, and thus this was an intimate moment of Montagne’s expression of his inner thoughts. Something the stable mountain had hidden through years of practice for the people around him's benefit to keep up the persona of a stable reliable leader. 

“Could I have been more loving? More open? More selfish? Perhaps. And I think about all these scenarios that_ could have_ saved what I had with her, yet afterwards I realize that there was nothing I would have rather wanted than to have what had happened. I don’t miss _her exactly_, but I miss the feelings I felt back then and I haven’t realized this until fairly recently-but everything I felt back then is what I feel right now with _you_. And what happened with me has helped shape me into who I am today, it would have never given me the drive to keep going and protect the ones who needed protecting the most. The drive to continue after what all happened landed me in Rainbow where I fell in love with an amazing man.” Bandit’s heart fluttered in his chest, the intimacy of such words spoken to him sparking a shock of pure and utter love throughout his body. _Random, but heartwarming._ he thought and leaned over to kiss Montagne desperately-swallowing the surprised grunt driven from Montagne’s mouth. When they finally parted from breathlessness did Bandit realize that Montagne wasn’t finished. 

“And I feel that the horrible things that happened to you and everything bad in this world that happens to everyone isn’t just meant as hurdles to bring pain but give us a reason for change. It shapes us, and steers us on the path to fate. Whatever happened Dom, it’s made you who you are and I couldn’t imagine myself loving any other version of you more than the Dominic I love now. You’ve come so far from the man who I met years ago who’d scurry away from anyone like a stray cat and i’m proud of you. _Everyone's _proud of you, I know you don’t really see yourself as such but you’re a good person and a good friend. I wouldn’t have you any other way.” Bandit crumbled, speechless as he melted against the soft hand that ran through his hair and gave the French man a dopey smile. He didn’t know what to say, couldn’t find the right words to bring out all these emotions he was feeling. It was pure euphoria, a high unobtainable from any drug Bandit has ever had before. Because this drug was incredibly rare and was named Montagne, and he was addicted. 

When sleep came to Montagne eventually after relishing in each other’s embrace in a loving silence, Bandit stayed awake and watched the Frenchman’s sleeping form with interest. He relished in the calmness of his sleeping figure, a stark contrast to the emotional side he witnessed earlier. When the early morning sun began to rise, accenting Montagne’s pale broad figure with sharp orange rays Bandit almost snapped a photo-yet thought against it considering he had a worrying amount of photos of an unconscious Montagne already saved in a folder on his phone cleverly labeled “GAY PORN“ (mostly to steer off _certain_ people who might gain access to his phone) and adding onto it would’ve been a little obsessive and much. 

He merely took a picture of the sight of Montagne’s peaceful slumber in his mind for safekeeping, vowing to never forget the sight of the gentle giant resting in the morning’s light. The idea of the man he loved here in his home country with him basking in the _German_ sun in a _German_ hotel room surged a sense of patriotic pride in him he didn’t know he still harbored. He hadn’t slept a wink that night and would probably regret that decision later on in the afternoon yet right now he was too busy living in the moment and enjoying the peace he was feeling. The thoughts of his family and the problems he’d have to sort out later never came to mind and were edged to the very corners of his subconscious. 

Right now, in the cheap hotel room with his sleeping mountain, he was safe and supported. The dangers of the outside a mere burden he could worry about later. 

And for once, he realized, he’d be able to go back to Hereford and join in with his teammates’ conversations of their motherland with at least _one_ good feeling and memory to share.

**Author's Note:**

> i need myself a montagne in my life tbh... 
> 
> kudos, comments, support of any kind is greatly appreciated. hope you all enjoyed this :)


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